Pirate Revelations
by Miss Frizz
Summary: Harry begins going through some remarkable changes that could tip the balance in the war until a potions accident sends him on a voyage into another world, unable to return for six years or until snape can find a way to bring him back and save everyone.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Not mine Yadda Yadda  
  
A/N: Sorry about the formatting the first time i uploaded it but i was on my way out the door for schoolies (Aussie end of Yr12 Celebrations) when i posted it. I was kinda in a hurry. This is hopefully paragraphed and easier to read.  
  
As much as it was strange to say it Harry Potter was glad to be home. Not as in Hogwarts home but as in the prim and proper walls of the Dursley's house. It was the first time that he had ever actually thought of the house as a haven, a place of respite. But then Harry had never before gone through what he had in his fifth year. Call it hormones, call it teenage angst if you will, but Harry was depressed. And after the events of the last year, and in fact most of the events before that, life in the Wizarding world did not help along his emotional state. With barely enough time to begin the mourning process over Sirius, and Dumbledore had shipped him off back home, back to his life of complete isolation from the wizarding world, and his friends. And for the first time he was grateful. He was sick of the press asking questions like 'Do you feel relieved that you contributed to the death of he same man that killed your family and almost you?' or his favourite 'How does it feel to be manipulated by The Dark Lord?'. Even worse was the look that the school students gave him, the one that even some of the teachers gave him, and recently his closest friends. That look of wariness, that they expected him to blow up at any minute. And the looks of pity from those that knew about his connection to Sirius.  
  
He didn't want them to look at him... at all. At least at home he could study what he liked in peace, without their constant inquiries as to his feelings, and his motives. He hadn't told them but he wanted revenge, pure and simple. He wanted to chain Voldemort to a table with razor wire and watch him struggle as he removed his organs one by one, making sure he was alive for as long as possible. Perhaps he would make him eat them.   
  
Or he could just use the much cleaner Cruciatus curse until Voldemort spasmed so bad that he would break his own back. Despite this Harry knew he could never do anything like that. But the thoughts did quell his rage sometimes.  
  
So his plan this summer was to study, anything and everything he could. Voldemort had been the top in his grade and so to beat him Harry would need to do a lot of catch up work. He damned his previous years of idleness and realized that by not learning to the best of his abilities, he could have condemned the entire wizarding community to its horrifying end. Harry had learned to appreciate that one spell could make or break a war.  
  
It shocked Harry when upon arriving at home he hadn't needed to fight to retain his textbooks and his trunk. Vernon Dursley had watched him take it to his room without a word, and at dinnertime, he had not been called to cook. In fact none of the Dursleys spoke to him at all. He would have to bet that Mad-eye Moody would have something to do with that and although the action was inspired by pity, he appreciated it. At six o'clock he wandered down the stairs after reluctantly leaving his Transfiguration textbook to the enticing smell of a roast being served. However when he entered the kitchen He got nothing but a stare from Vernon as Petunia said 'come down later and get something to eat boy'. It was the first thing she had said to him in 12 months. He looked at the three plates served and took the hint, walking back to his room with a shrug.  
  
He resumed working and after finishing all his transfiguration and charms homework, he set down his quill and tiredly made his way down the stairs again, surprised at how late it was, the Dursleys already sleeping soundly in their rooms. He grabbed some cold roast out of the fridge and, not risking the microwave for fear of waking them up, took it to his room and ate it cold as he went over his essays and made adjustments. Eventually, he had finished eating and his essays were beyond improvement, he allowed himself a rare smile and slowly went to bed with his alarm clock reading 3 o'clock in the morning. His last thought was of Hermione, and how she could manage to do this every night and still manage to stay awake the next day.   
  
That night Harry dreamt of Voldemort. Of Sirius and of tattered black curtains flapping in the wind. Hundreds of glittering balls lining a never-ending passageway. Red slitted eyes seared into the back of his skull and a horrifying menacing laugh echoed around his head.   
  
'You... its all your fault potter' it repeated over and over, it's gravelly voice making his teeth hurt, until it eventually turned into Dumbledore, faces merging as one in a grotesque mixture. Then Sirius's wailing voice could be heard. 'Why Harry? You were like a son. I loved you...Why?' The sequence repeated again and again, each time Harry's pleas for innocence became weaker and weaker until nothing but hoarse breaths came from his mouth.  
  
He awoke early the next morning covered in sweat with his sheets tangled around him in knots. His thoughts lingered on Voldemort. Was it him that had sent the dream to him? Was this another tactic to make Harry falter, to give up his revenge?   
  
As he got out of bed he began to wonder. Why had Dumbledore let him go if he knew that Voldemort still had the power of legilimency at his command? So many questions confused his mind, but seeing no immediate respite from them he tucked them to the back of his thoughts and got up to resume his studying. He would leave the room as little as possible this summer, though he vowed to at least go for a jog or something every morning, if only to keep fit and not let down his team mates. He was no longer afraid of attack out side the house. He knew he wasn't safe out side, but quite frankly he didn't care. At least then it would be over. Harry wasn't suicidal or anything... no true Gyffindor would take the coward's way out, but in his mind his own life didn't seem that important anymore. A bit of a paradox considering he was the last hope for the magical community.  
  
Lost in his thoughts he quietly made his way down to the kitchen and drank a glass of milk for breakfast. He wasn't really hungry. After glancing at the clock, which read 7 o'clock, he realized that the Dursleys, being the sloths that they were, would not be awake for another two hours, perhaps more, so pulling on his shoes he walked out the door and onto the quiet street in Little Whinging. He wore what he had slept in, a singlet top and shorts, quite acceptable for a jog, though after half an hour he had worked up a sweat and peeled of his singlet. At least it would give the neighbours something to talk about. A teenage delinquent fresh out of disciplinary school, running half-naked around the streets.  
  
  
  
He ran around his old school and began making his way home, taking note of the pinched faces, adorned with hair curlers and collared by frilly nightclothes staring out at him as the suburb began to awaken. He smiled. Petunia would hear about this by noon. Not that he cared because she wouldn't do anything with the threats of Mad-eye, Tonks, Lupin and Dumbledore hanging over her head. Besides the neighbourhood already blamed him for the vandalism that Dudley's group did around the place, despite the fact that it still happened even when he was at 'St Brutus's'.  
  
He reached home at 8 o'clock on the dot and headed to the shower. Then he wrote to Hermione and Ron, and of course Lupin to assure him that the Dursleys were treating him ok (if flat out ignoring him was ok) and not to send Mad-eye over to demolish things.   
  
Then he started on his potions homework, surprised at how easy it was without any distractions. He had found a loophole in the system that said that even if you didn't meet the O.W.L requirements for N.E.W.T level studies you could ask to sit an entry test to be accepted. Harry knew he hadn't scored an O or E level in Potions and knew that this would be his only chance to do advanced potions. He would not only pass the test, he would get top marks... not that he would be competing against anyone, no one in their right mind would willingly take part in a test to rejoin Snape's class. He would show Snape that he was worthy of even his excessively high expectations. And Harry knew that it wouldn't be easy.  
  
He finished the essay by noon but didn't finish revising it until one, when his stomach began to growl. He took no notice of it however and immediately started on History of magic, getting his two worst subjects out of the way in one day. Again it was after midnight before he got something to eat. He was so absorbed in his studies that he didn't even hear Petunia and Vernon ranting in the sitting room about his morning gallivant all afternoon, nor did he hear Dudley kick his door muttering insults as he walked heavily to bed.   
  
He just kept on repeating, in his mind, 'I'm doing this for Sirius' over and over, each time his resolve to learn more hardening until it was an unstoppable force. His work consumed him and he consumed the knowledge as though it was his life force. No time for self-pity or loathing when you're learning.  
  
That night he dreamed of horror again. 


	2. Metal

A/N: The real plot doesn't start for several more chapter's but this is all setting it up so just bare with me. And remember to leave a review before you go!  
  
This time it was louder more commanding, forcing him to listen to the words that seemed so wrong, but that he knew deep down were so right. His hoarse breaths this time turned from pleading innocence to pleading mercy at his judgement for the deaths on his conscious. Even if this was Voldemort, he knew that he was saying only what every one else was too afraid to. It was his fault; he knew it in his heart.  
  
That morning he didn't wake until his body rolled off the bed and onto the hard, unyielding floor, jarring his shoulder. The pain dissipated the horrors left in his mind and he found himself relaxing and stretching out on the floor. Reluctantly he pulled on his shoes and walked outside into the brisk cold air. It woke him up a bit and soon he fell into a regular pace, his breath coming in short rhythmic pants. He made it to his school, this time, in only twenty-five minutes and felt better that after only one day he was improving. He kept running past and for another five minutes before turning around and running back, taking a slightly longer but more scenic route home. Again as soon as he reached home he went straight upstairs and, after a quick shower, into his room to get back to studying before the Dursleys woke up.   
  
Today he rewarded himself with Defense against the Dark Arts, and finished it in record time as he hardly had to refer to the book at all, and painstakingly made his way through various astronomy charts for the uncharacteristically large amount of work Professor Sinistra had assigned them. His routine was the same for three more days when he realized that he had completed all his homework to his best possible standard. Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures was finished and all the scrolls lay in a pile to one corner of his desk. He looked at his clock, only 2 o'clock in the morning. Too early for Harry to submit to the call of sleep. And he wasn't hungry. In fact since the beginning of the holidays his appetite had decreased significantly, until he only sometimes ate late at night before bed, though that was more out of habit than hunger. His nights had become shorter and shorter until he no longer slept more than an hour each night. It kept the more violent dreams at bay and Harry surprisingly found that he was not that tired from the lack of sleep. At first he brushed it off as just a good working brain but after three nights with a total sleeping time of three hours, he was beginning to think something was wrong.   
  
He would see what he could find tomorrow. Tonight he would send Hedwig to get him a catalogue from Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley. He needed to get next years textbooks and also some other reading material if he wanted to keep learning. But she wasn't going to be back from Diagon Alley before dawn though and so once he sent her off and watched her small feathered figure fade into the night he slumped back onto his bed and began to reread his old potions text book. But he had already mastered what was in there. Eventually, restless he got up and began writing a long reply to Hermione's last letter. He mentioned that he had already finished his homework and that the Dursleys had left him alone for the most part (they were still denying his existence in their house). Nothing personal, but friendly enough so Hermione could not see through it to his real feelings. He had told no one about the new nightmares, he was sure it wasn't Voldemort but just his own cruel conscious rubbing his guilt into his already frail psyche.  
  
He stared at the letter before setting it aside for Hedwig in the morning then looked to his clock. 3 in the morning it read. Harry closed his eyes and rested his head on his folded arms on the desk. He hadn't meant to drift off and he hadn't been particularly tired but before he knew it he was immersed in a nightmare.  
  
It was as though they had been waiting for him to fall into a deep sleep, the pent up violence from the previous three days was unleashed full force in a hurricane of deep anger and brutality, taking Harry with it. He spiraled down... down ever further into the deep dark recesses of his mind, he opened his mouth to scream, in pain and yet not, but found that his mouth refused to respond and allow him even this small release. He reeled and some where in between wakefulness and slumber he felt it. Him. Like an insidious parasite he leeched off his shames and angers, and pushed him further down.   
  
Then with a jolt it was gone. A sharp tapping at the window woke him. He was laying on the floor, his chair on its side. He looked down and realized that his hands were wrapped tightly around his arms, fingernails digging painfully into his flesh. Only it wasn't really pain... and as he released them he felt the horrors of the dream come flooding back. There was no images this night, just the immensely nauseatic feeling of falling downwards in increasingly vicious spirals, and the thick aura of despair that filled the air, making him breath it like oxygen and smothering his lungs and insides with a sickly weighted feeling.  
  
Experimentally he dug in his fingernails again, right next to the moonlike crescents from before. They bit in and Harry flinched in anticipation of the pain. But it didn't come. Instead it left him. Through the scratches the previous nights events seemed to seep out in blissful liberation.  
  
  
  
The impatient tapping at the window was becoming annoying, until Harry's mood was spoilt and he stood up and allowed Hedwig admittance. He roughly pulled the catalogue from him and quickly read it, noting down all the texts he would need for next year, plus a couple of others, on Dueling and Occlumency and potions etc. He gave Hedwig an impatient nudge and sent her straight back out into the brightening sky. He sighed at the turmoil inside him. Time for his run.  
  
By this time he could make it to the old school in twenty minutes, and each day he ran further and further, never arriving home later than 8 o'clock for fear of coming face to face with one of his family members. He didn't want to think of them when they were now the only family he had left.   
  
As he ran the feelings began to broil up inside of him. He knew it was Voldemort influencing at least part of his dreams, which is why he had bought a rather expensive book on occlumency, not that he really thought a book would help. Better than nothing however.   
  
But how could Dumbledore leave him like this? Magic-less and isolated left to deal with his raving midnight emotions in nightmares of enormous proportions. The choking feeling began to come back as his head spun with the memory of last night, but he knew he had to at least make it home before he could let it control him. Breathing became almost impossible and he could tell he was beginning to hyperventilate. Stumbling the last hundred metres to the door, he flung it open and collapsed inside with a thud.   
  
'What is wrong with me' he wondered as usually his runs served to relax him than anything else.   
  
He crawled upstairs, to the mirror in the bathroom and looked into his own eyes. And saw fear reflected. His vision was swimming and the outside of his view began to close, going darker at the edges. Frantically he looked around the room looking for something, anything that might help him. Nothing... until a shiny metal object caught his eye. Uncle Vernon's razor set... yes that could work. Before when he had heard about the act of blood letting as a form of release, he had thought it barbaric, but now he was beginning to doubt his previous assessment. Right now it was looking downright appealing in his rapidly failing vision. He grabbed it, stared at it hesitantly before bringing it gingerly down to his arm, gasping slightly as cold metal touched bare skin. 


	3. Change can be hard

He grabbed it, stared at it hesitantly before bringing it gingerly down to his arm, gasping slightly as cold metal touched bare skin.   
  
Then he began to drag, slowly at first, then quickly as he adjusted his technique. The feeling produced could only be described as pure and utter rapture as the pain flowed from him quicker than before. His muscles relaxed and he felt the heat leave his body and settle to its normal levels.   
  
After several minutes of laying there limply, a bloodied razor in his hand, he raised his head. He was slumped on the floor, one arm draining blood into the bath, the other lying languidly on his stomach. He stood, and was briefly hit with a wave of dizziness and for a second he thought that it had not worked until he realized that it was only from blood loss. He looked down at his slashed arm and grimaced at the ugly thin gashes that marred his once perfect skin. 'At least the razor was sharp' he thought grimly to himself, horrified at what the consequences could have been had it been blunt.   
  
He washed the bath quickly, and the razor, and placed it carefully back where in had come from. He bathed his arm in water and went back to his room to tear up an old shirt to wrap around it. The make shift bandage worked to some degree but he wore long sleeved shirts just to cover it up in case the Dursleys chose this day to make themselves conscious of his presence.  
  
He returned to his room to read an old Quidditch book, waiting for Hedwig to return. He felt slightly guilty reading a book this useless but he knew their was nothing else to be gleaned from his old textbooks until Hedwig got back. Besides he owed it to his teammates to at least do some reading on the sport, if it was impossible for him to actually practice.  
  
He was surprised at how fast he was learning. Normally he would take weeks to even review one subject yet here he was less than one week after school and already he was finished. And now that he thought about it, he hadn't eaten anything for at least two days and wasn't hungry in the slightest. Something definitely very weird was going on with him.   
  
He sat their musing, trying not to let his thoughts to return to Voldemort and Sirius, and risk re-sparking another episode like this morning.   
  
It was noon before he was finally pulled to his senses, again to the sound of an agitated Hedwig at the window. Feeling slightly guilty of his treatment of her before he opened the window and apologized to her straight away. She seemed to understand his mood and accepted gracefully, after a quick hard peck at his fingers. The book shop owner had thankfully placed a timed weightlessness and shrinking charm on the books, and just as well, as their was a lot of books there. Probably over twenty if he bothered to count. The beginnings of his very own (Lockhart-free) library. He had no idea how he would get them all to Hogwarts without magic.  
  
He pulled the small but obvious tab at the bottom of the small squarish package and watched it spring open and rematerialise in it's proper shape and size. Happy for something to do he grabbed the top book and after asking Hedwig politely to deliver Hermione's letter when she was feeling up to it, he sat down to read. Hedwig puffed out her chest haughtily at Harry's comment and grabbed the parchment before flying out the window. But Harry did not see her little display of pride, as he was already immersed in his book, 'Witch and Wizard Development stages, what to expect as you grow older'.  
  
He didn't know why he had bought this book, but in his haze of pain, he hadn't really paid much attention. It sounded a bit like a magical version of the birds and the bees story, and half expected miniature models to jump up and demonstrate when he opened the page, not that he was that adverse to it. But wizard books did have a habit of being quite different to what your original perception of them was.  
  
This seemed to be a book about a sort of magical puberty that non-muggles went through in their early twenties, where their powers increase significantly and their growth rate slows to that of a normal magical person. It seems that up until this age, witches and wizards grew at the same rate as humans. Before they settled into their lengthened life span. However it was the following excerpt that caught his eye:  
  
'The Magical time of change is different for everyone. It can uncover hidden or latent talents, increase general magic, and knowledge, or it can do the opposite. The latter can be prevented if caught early enough however it often leaves the witch or wizard with slightly diminished magical ability. It generally occurs between the ages of 20-25 for wizards and 19-23 for witches. The changing is a commonly known event however it is not an appropriate topic for conversation and so the public's awareness of it is relatively low, despite the fact that most of the magical population has endured it, some more than once. If you believe you are going through the change, it is imperative that you contact the ministry as soon as possible.  
  
The change is often marked by sudden losses of appetite and insomnia, however if you have been in contact with a three foot Snorfulac then it would be wise to first rule out the possibility that you have contracted the three foot parasite (confirm by checking for the presence of additional limbs). Other symptoms include mental weakness and vulnerability and increased stamina. After a week to a week and a half the second stage of the changing begins, the time of pain and growth and it is imperative that you are at St Mungos specialty changing unit to be administered the painless potions to combat the magical growth pains that would other wise incapacitate the wizard. These can last up to three days however the average is more like twelve hours.  
  
The next stage of wizard development does not occur until the wizard or witches 30th year, and is the only stage between the changing and the aftermath stage in the one hundredth year...'  
  
Harry stopped reading at that point as a slow realization drew over him. How he had managed to buy the right book for his 'condition' he would never know but he was grateful that he had in time. It had been five days since he had first started feeling the symptoms the day he got home. He still had 2 days left, more if he was lucky. He scrawled a note to Lupin, and then one to Dumbledore about it and, feeling satisfied, sat back to read another potions book.   
  
His only interruption that night was Hedwig bringing a reply from Hermione and taking off again with the two other letters. He vowed to let her have a rest when she got back.  
  
He put down his book and quickly read Hermione's letter, which was obviously written in a rush.  
  
Dear Harry  
  
Sorry this is short but we were just leaving for our holiday when this showed up and I thought you would like a reply straight away. Already finished?? Good lord, I'm only half way through. But then I did write double for Professor Binns three-foot essay. Hagar the Horrible troll was just such an interesting historical figure don't you think? Glad the Dursleys aren't bothering you, and tell Dumbledore straight away if Voldemort is in your dreams again. I know I write that every week but you have a history of keeping them to yourself.  
  
Take care of yourself   
  
Luv Herms  
  
She signed it with her pet name that Ron and Harry called her, no doubt an attempt to cheer him up, as he knew she hated it. It was good to know that he was beating Hermione in his homework, though hers was probably of better quality. Perhaps it was a consequence of this changing he was sure he was going through. Just then a sentence from the book showed itself again in his mind. '...between the ages of 20-25 for wizards...' He was only fifteen (soon sixteen), it couldn't possibly be the changing. Harry began to feel utterly stupid for having written to Dumbledore and Lupin with such a personal and false event. Why hadn't he read the book properly? His concentration had been impeccable up till that slip. And now they would think him totally ignorant. Not at all his goal for this year. And Snape would surely never let him in his class if he heard about this idiotic blunder. He was way too young for the changing. Now they were probably worrying for his emotional state.   
  
Quickly he wrote a second note for Dumbledore and Lupin trying to correct the error and left it beside Hedwig's perch. It read,  
  
Dear Professors Dumbledore and Lupin  
  
Please disregard my previous letter about the changing, for having now read up on it I am aware that I am way too young to go through it. I apologize for annoying you with this totally inappropriate topic and hope you will see fit to forget totally about this matter.  
  
Sorry again  
  
Harry Potter  
  
Perhaps a little impersonal and short but he didn't know what else to write that wouldn't make him sound even more like an idiot.  
  
Now that he thought about it all of his symptoms could be explained away quite easily. He wasn't eating because he was making up from all the huge feasts he had eaten during the year at Hogwarts, and he wasn't sleeping, just from the nightmares... yes that was it he was sub-consciously too scared to sleep. And his concentration was just improved from the lack of the usual distractions he had to put up with at school, like Ron nagging him to play wizards chess or exploding snap. Sometimes he wondered if Ron would ever get tired of those stupid children's games.  
  
He sat down to once more become absorbed within the potions book, and having found an interesting correlation in two different potions, began to jot down notes in fascination.   
  
After what seemed like only minutes to Harry he looked up and noticed that the next letter was gone. Hedwig had taken it and Harry had left the window open. He was freezing but for some reason didn't really care. He could tell it was less than 5 degrees outside and even in a light long sleeve cotton shirt and shorts, he was still fairly comfortable. He shrugged it of and looked down at his notes, surprised to see how much he had actually done.  
  
He pushed them to one side of the table and upon seeing the first rays of dawn poking their way through the clouds; he pulled on his shoes and went for a run.   
  
His senses were alert to any change in breathing patterns after what had happened the morning before, but he wasn't prepared for what hit him only ten metres from the house. 


	4. Help ArrivesI hate chapter names!

His senses were alert to any change in breathing patterns after what had happened the morning before, but he wasn't prepared for what hit him only ten metres from the house.  
  
The pain almost knocked him off his feet and he stumbled to a telegraph pole to steady him. It felt as though his entire body was being ripped apart, left from right and top from bottom. He could feel the bones inside him creaking and grinding as though being stretched as they tore themselves from their sockets. Agony tore up and down his spine as his brain sent confused signals out to his limbs. His toes curled in and his hands made tight fists, so that his nails again dug into his flesh. Pain… but not just any pain… self-inflicted pain drew his attention away from his torture, and he knew what he would have to do. And within seconds he was in the bathroom (how, he knew not) grasping Vernon's razor as another wave of pain hit him with just as much force as before. His vision clouded with red as he felt the sting of blood vessels popping in his eyes under the strain, and other places as well he thought as he noticed a thin trickle of blood come from his nose. Just slice it Harry, he thought desperately as he tore furiously at the bandage on his arm.  
  
Finally it came off and Harry was surprised to see his old wounds had already healed to red scars on his pale skin. His whole body shook and spasmed as he tried to steady his hand and make the first cut.  
  
The effect was instant. A relaxing euphoria took over his body and he sagged to the ground with relief. His eyes flitted shut, his mind emptied, and he slipped into a slight meditative doze.  
  
He awoke to a pounding on the door and Dudley's voice yelling 'Mum! Harry's hogging the bathroom!'   
  
He jumped awake and slowly got to his feet, knowing from his experiences the morning before that getting up too fast would result in dizziness. He looked down at his arm, which was now caked with blood; three fresh gashes already healing stood out against the red scars of the others. He gently washed off the blood and the mess he'd made around the bathroom and wrapped his arm in the bandage from before.  
  
He reached for the doorknob but before he could turn it something made him stop. The razor… it was still sitting on the basin covered in blood. He ignored Dudley's wails and washed it before carefully placing it hidden in the folds of his bandage. He might need that later.  
  
He quickly turned, and swung open the door, much to Dudley's surprise, and walked out straight into his room, ignoring anything they were saying. He shut the door and sat on his bed.   
  
What the hell had just happened? Not even the cruciatus had caused that much pain. Could it be stage two of the changing? Perhaps he had dismissed that possibility to quickly.   
  
Harry walked over to the book on wizarding development and looked for any more information.  
  
'STAGE TWO the changing  
  
When given the proper treatment, the afflicted person will generally remain in an unconscious state during the changing. The pain is dissipated using a simple yet effective painless potion administered during the first sign of stage two. If not taken the pain generally comes in waves of increasing intensity until the end of this phase. After this the changing is over and the witch or wizard's magical core is drastically changed for the better or worse…'  
  
After this it continued with the finer point of the potions used.  
  
Well that confirmed it. There was no excuse for this and there was nothing else it could be. Harry's first thought was to rewrite to Dumbledore and Lupin and to ask for help, but the book said the potion had to be taken at the beginning. It would be of no use now. And he doubted they would let him continue with his own method of treatment. Eventually he decided to write to them in the hopes that they would have something to help him. He hated himself for overworking Hedwig this much but he couldn't help it. He walked over to his desk and with one shaking hand he began to write. He got out three words before keeling over in his chair and falling to the ground.  
  
His lungs felt as though they were being ripped from his body as every bit of air was squeezed from them. The backs of his legs felt on fire as his guts, he was sure, were turning inside out. He wretched in the corner of the room, load dry coughs racking his body as his stomach was empty and his mouth parched. It was then that he realized that since coming home he hadn't drunk anything but a single glass of milk. But that thought was quickly forgotten as he reached under the folds of cloth and gripped the razor tightly. Within five seconds four sharp red slashes appeared on his wrist and he lay there, a pool of blood gathering around him. His eyes were closed and he drifted off to dream.   
  
He didn't wake to the frantic taps on the glass that was Hedwig, nor did he receive the four notes she held in her talons. Two undelivered to Remus Lupin, his own scrawl addressing the front of them, and two other identical ones, with the seal of Hogwarts, both with these word printed on them.  
  
Dear whom it may concern  
  
I regret to inform you that at present Headmaster Dumbledore is unavailable as he is off on business. I, the inbox, have consumed your letter and it will be read and replied to as soon as possible. I apologize for any inconvenience.  
  
Sincerely   
  
Dumbledore's inbox  
  
All four letters fluttered to the grass as Hedwig saw her companion inside in a pool of his own blood. Despite her exhaustion at her constant letter delivery, she knew she needed to reach someone to help him. The muggle's would be of no use; they would either ignore her or hurt her. She needed someone she knew she could trust. Dumbledore and Remus Lupin both could not be found, and she wasn't sure it was wise to go to Grimmauld place just in case. Her thoughts went back to last year in the owlery; her only friend amongst the other brainless young owls was a dark black vicious looking Tawny Frogmouth owl from Australia. She belonged to one of the teachers, and despite the tawny's appearance he was quite a sociable bird. He spoke highly of his companion. It was her only thought as she desperately turned back to Hogwarts and flew at top speed. It was a long and cold journey, but one she had weathered many times before. She knew all the air currents for this time of year, and made it there the fastest she'd ever been before. Her first stop was the owlery, in the hopes that the Tawny would be there.   
  
She found him, perched high in the rafters away from the breezy drafts and away from the other owls. She perched next to him and he already seemed to know what she wanted as he jumped off the perch and slowly flew out the window as though expecting her to follow him. She did and he leaded her to a narrow passage in the roof that she had seen before but never been curious enough to explore. It led down through the building, the tips of her feathers brushing the sides of the passageway, and she wondered how on earth the much larger Tawny could do it. Light lessened and Hedwig knew she was below the castle grounds from the stale smell of the air. Owls were gliding birds and it was getting more and more difficult to remain aloft in the thinning air. Finally both birds flew out the end of the tunnel and into a small dimly lit office. Hedwig flew to where to Tawny had stopped and looked around the room. Neat, to some degree, the walls covered in tattered manuscripts, small glass fronted cupboards filled with little vials of liquid. In the corner was a chair, in which sat a man in dark robes and he was sleeping. Remembering her mission, she flew over and grasped the hem of his sleeve and tugged violently like she used to do to her own companion. The man was instantly awake and alert and he quickly brushed the frantic bird off his arm.  
  
'You're Potters bird!' he said with surprise before a scowl covered his features. 'Get out of my office.' He said coolly before grabbing Hedwig and shoving her towards the vent that she had just come through.  
  
She squawked louder, the desperation was evident and made the man hesitate. It was enough for Hedwig who flew out of his grasp and began tugging him hard towards the door by the back of his shirt where he couldn't reach. Tawny flew over to the cloak stand and picked up a heavy woolen cape and threw it over his companion's shoulders.   
  
'Syd? You're in this against me too?' he said knowing he would not be answered. But the man relented, obviously trusting of his own familiar. He grabbed a broom from beside the cloak rack and swept through the door, the two birds trailing behind him.  
  
***  
  
Meanwhile back in the Dursley's house it was night and Harry was not getting any better. Each wave of pain incorporated more and more of his body, and each time he literally felt as though he had spewed his guts up. How the Dusley's hadn't woken up yet he didn't know but he was beyond the point of caring. The first few waves felt like pinpricks to what he was feeling now. His back arched alarmingly with pain and his blood shot eyes rolled into the back of his skull, fingernails dug into the palms of his hands, so far that he was beginning to feel bone. In this position the blood from broken blood vessels in his nose filled his nostrils and then forced its way down into his throat, only to be retched back out in a spat of coughing fits. The pain was constant now, the only thing distinguishing wave from wave, being a brief recovery of motor skills in which he would slash at his arms in a desperate attempt to be free of the agony. It offered him only minimal respite now but Harry grasped to whatever relief he could. He knew he was going to die.   
  
The slashes were irregular and ragged now, blood poured from them at a shocking speed but Harry didn't notice. He wasn't aware of the time that passed while he was on the floor though he felt sure it was hours, perhaps days. He even wasn't aware of the commotion out side his door as a strange dark man rang the door bell at midnight and the Dursley's angrily woke to answer it. 


	5. Snape's Welcome

Severus Snape was a proud man, and yet right now he was being led around by a bird to the door of his most despised student during the holidays, because his owl was having a psycho. What was he doing? he asked himself, and not even he was sure. Their was something in the white owls large eyes that had made him come and now it was a faint gut feeling that made him walk up to the door. It was a trimmed and neat house, nothing marring the perfect lawn aside from a perfect cement path up to the front door. And something else caught his eye. A bundle of parchment lay ruffled on the ground, which he realized to be letters as he drew closer. Wizard letters at that he noted as he picked up the parchments from the grass. Two were letters he would recognize anywhere, letters from Dumbledore's inbox, and the other two were written in Potter's own untidy scrawl, and were addressed to the werewolf.  
  
Muttering a few spells to disable the weak protective charms on the seal, he opened the paper.  
  
Dear Professor Lupin  
  
I don't want to worry you but I was reading a book on wizarding development, and I came across an article on 'the changing'. I've never heard of it before, but as I read it the symptoms of this condition seemed to be very familiar. To put it bluntly I believe it is happening to me. Since I have returned to the Dursley's I started to lose my appetite, and I haven't been sleeping much at all. And my concentration is increasing. I've been trying to study potions to re-sit an entrance exam for Snape so I can be an Auror, and I managed to devour an entire textbook in one night. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. Sorry to bother you, I know you are busy on… certain business. I just thought someone should know just in case.  
  
Harry  
  
Professor Snape laughed at the letter. Not only did he truly believe he had a chance of making his class but… the changing? That didn't happen till a lot later in life.   
  
It appeared that Potter realized that too, as that was the content of his second letter. Snape wondered why Potter would talk to Lupin on such a personal topic; usually kept between parents and hospital staff… oh yes he didn't have any parents. Snape grimaced in confused memories of James's taunting and Lily's helpfulness.  
  
Too bad neither Lupin or Dumbledore were currently available, due to a little deatheater outbreak in Russia that they were both still trying to contain.  
  
But still a queasy feeling flitted inside his usually calm stomach, as though warning him, and he was compelled to go forward. Snape resealed the letters and concealed them in his robes before knocking on the peach coloured front door. For several minutes there was no answer and Snape was just about to Alohamora the door, when a thump and a curse from upstairs caught his attention. The sound of someone falling out of bed.  
  
Bed? At midnight? Snape wondered. But then he always had been a late sleeper, and often forgot that other people enjoyed sleeping before some ungodly hour of the morning.  
  
A few seconds later and he heard a stomping gait of a heavy man walking down the stairs, accompanied with a significant deal of more swearing. Then the locks rattled, the door opened an inch and one small piggy eye stared up at him.  
  
'What the hell do you think you are doing waking me up at this time of the night? This had better have a damn good reason, life and death I tell you, or I'm calling the police. Who the hell are you?'  
  
Snape saw the short fat man's face grow brighter with rage and felt slightly amused at his attempt at intimidation. He could throw the wool over the Dark Lords eyes, withstand multiple cruciatus, and fight a dozen deatheater single handedly if need be, and this man thought he held some sort of power over him. Perhaps this trip would be slightly fun after all. Snape played along, giving the man a half-arsed attempt at a scared face.  
  
'I…I'm terribly sorry to bother you this late at night. My name is Professor err…Snape, I'm from Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. I'm just here to inqui..'  
  
Snape's pathetic performance was cut off as Vernon exploded with no regard to the amount of noise he was making.  
  
'NEVER MENTION THAT FREAK PLACE IN MY PRESCENCE AGAIN! I will not have you…you people violating my property. It's bad enough I have to put up with that abomination in my house, but to have these evil freaks calling at ungodly hours, not doubt off to perform satanic rituals. YOU WILL REMOVE YOURSELF FROM THIS HOUSE AND…"  
  
This time it was Vernon's turn to be interrupted as a very startled Snape cast a Silencing spell, binding spell and levitation spell in one fast flick of the wrists. Vernon's body lifted in the air and backed out of the doorway as Snape followed him in. Snape's thoughts were racing. Where was the doting, beautiful sister of Lily and her adoring family? Where was Potters upper class wealthy house, with a dog and three goldfish?  
  
Surely this wasn't where Potter lived. Syd must have led him somewhere else.  
  
But his theories were dashed when a skinnier, uglier version of Lily Evans walked down the stairs.  
  
"Vernon what's all this shout…" she stopped when she saw Vernon's unmoving body floating in mid air. She would have screamed if it weren't for the quick spell Snape shot at her wide opened mouth.  
  
'Now you will listen to me and listen carefully. I will ask the questions and when I lift the spells you will answer them. If you cooperate then I will lift other spells, and let you free. If you do not cooperate then I will be forced to take drastic measures' he left that statement up to their imaginations, and could tell by their terrified looks on their faces that they would comply. The towering professor dressed from head to foot in black billowing robes was an impressive figure, not to mention the large hooked nose and vicious features that emanated power. Two helpless muggles had no chance.  
  
'Good now please sit' he said lifting the bindings and motioning towards the sitting room chairs before placing his broom, which was receiving horrible stares from Vernon, propped up next to the coat rack.  
  
Vernon and Petunia clung to each other and sat quickly.  
  
'Names now.' Snape said flicking a finite incantatum at them.  
  
'Petunia'  
  
'V..Vernon Dursley'  
  
'Petunia Evans was it?' She nodded ' then you must be the legal guardians of the Potter child'  
  
Another nod from both.  
  
'Tell me how has Potter been acting since school?'  
  
Vernon answered. 'I don't know. Haven't seen him all holidays'  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow surprised.  
  
'He's not here?'  
  
' He's here all right. He holes himself up in his room all day and all night only comes out once a day, before we get up in the morning. We only know because we've gotten reports from all the neighbours who see him every morning going out and coming back sweating and shirtless, sometimes staggering. We think he might be doing drugs but neither me nor Petunia want to deal with him. We were going to just wait and leave it up to the school to deal with.'  
  
Vernon was talking calmly and truthfully, not so surprising as Snape was shooting him a subtle tongue-loosening spell that only usually worked on muggles and weak-minded wizards. That and the fact that Vernon had probably picked up on the way Snape spat the word Potter and sensed he had an ally, if not against magic then against Harry at least.  
  
'So you haven't seen him in a week?'  
  
'Yes, except we saw him on the first day, and this morning my little Dudders saw him coming out of the bathroom.'  
  
Well at least that confirms that he is alive, or was in the last day. Not that he had even contemplated the possibility that he was dead. Or had he?  
  
'Has he been eating regularly? Or sleeping?' Snape asked. This time Petunia answered.  
  
'We refused to serve him at the dinner table so we assumed he was coming out at night time after we were sleeping to eat. I never noticed anything missing though. As for sleeping I have no idea. We can hear him playing around with his god-forsaken books when we go to bed and he wakes before we do. I don't actually know if he goes to sleep or not.'  
  
Snape felt the queasy feeling in his stomach grow. If Potter were a couple of years older her would totally believe that he was going through the changing. Could it be possible that Potter was right? In which case he would be a couple of days off the stage two, and would have to be taken to St Mungo's immediately. As much as he hated the boy, it would not be in his best wishes or the magical communities best wishes to let the brat die. After all the prophecy did include him defeating the dark lord, from what he'd heard off Dumbledore.  
  
After thinking for a few minutes, Snape suddenly stood up an shot the petrificus totalus spell at them, and upon seeing their bodies stiffen, turned and glided up the stairs. Time to talk to Potter. 


	6. AUTHORS NOTE ONLY

OKOK, I have quite a few chapters written of this and as soon as i get home i shall post at least one. I'm sorry that at the moment i have'nt updated in ages, but my mum confiscated my laptop and i've moved on to Farscape fanfiction, but i will try to get this one to completion stage. I have about 11-12 chapters written but the last time i tryed to post it was having problems with file formats.Get back to you in one or two days. HAPPY MOTHERS DAY 


	7. On with the Story!

A/N: I'm really sorry for making you guys wait. I really meant to post but I just started uni and right now I'm going through a Farscape phase (you know they're bringing back Farscape for a miniseries! Yay! And due to stupid aussies not supporting their own productions, we haven't even seen the forth season yet! Man I am dying for the forth season dvds to be released!) Any way Thanks to Daughter of Death, and Fallen angel and every one else. If it wasn't for your recent reviews I never would have gotten of my arse to post this.  
  
As soon as he cleared the top stair, he knew something was wrong. His large nose, conditioned from years of identifying ingredients and potions, picked up the all too familiar tang of blood in the air. Guided by this, he easily found the door of Harry's bedroom and reached for the doorknob. Just as he was about to turn it he froze, to the faint sounds of retching coming from inside. He flung the door open, and entered, prepared for the worst. But he still was not prepared for what he saw.  
  
Streaks of deep maroon sprayed the room and all the sheets from a bed were shredded and thrown about the place as though some one had had a violent fit of rage. Blood dripped from every surface, though a pile of books was hidden in the corner and protected by the only intact bedsheet in the room. Snape looked around wildly for the source of the blood and his eyes were drawn to the ragged sound of breathing coming from a small gap between a desk and a cupboard. He moved closer, and shot a finite incantatum down the stairs before calling 'DURSLEY!' at the top of his lungs.  
  
Snape would have mistaken Harry's body for dead if it wasn't for the slight rise and fall of one thin red streaked chest. His hair was glued flat to his head with the sticky substance and his glasses were missing. He only wore under wear and his eyes lolled half open in a grotesque stare that seemed to be looking right past Snape and reflected only a glassy vacancy. His arms, in the tight space were folded in his lap hidden by his legs, which were drawn to his chest so he was in a sort of upright foetal position. Snape looked in horror at the scene that reminded him so vividly of a torture room straight after a death eater rave. What had happened? It couldn't be the changing. Not even that could produce effects like this. Just then the Vernon and Petunia arrived at the door.  
  
At first they didn't realize what had happened, and they began getting angry at the notion that Harry had tried to paint the room red without telling them. But then they saw the look on Snape's unmoving face as he stared to a space beside the desk. They moved over to investigate.  
  
'I knew it... He's finally done himself in with drugs. Such a stupid boy. Had to leave behind this right mess for me to clean up too. Ungrateful little shit, after all I've...' Vernon's voice was interrupted.  
  
'He's not dead' said Snape plainly, choosing not to deal with the realization of Potter's real life and the bastards of carers he had at the moment for fear that the nice little world he had built himself took a drastic twist and all the barriers he had previously constructed came tumbling down. It would not do well for him to lose it now.  
  
'Get me some clean sheets now' he said struggling to keep his voice emotionless at the sight of a boy that he had previously thought to be indestructible from his unwavering luck laying in a pool of his own blood. The Dursley's scurried off to do what he asked, not wanting to be the subject of Snape's spells again.  
  
Without moving him Snape surveyed the boy trying to find the source of all the blood. His nose was bleeding and his eyes streaked with red blood vessels telling him that what ever pain it was, it was worse that the cruciatus to have done strain damage to that many veins. But that couldn't have caused all the carnage that surrounded him. Not trusting himself to lift Harry, he pointed his wand at him and used a gentle levitation spell usually used by nurses, to lift him out of the crevice. As soon as his body was clear of the desk, one pale arm fell exposed from his lap. Harry's body jerked as Snape started surprised and repelled at the new sight that greeted his black eyes. His forearms, or what was left of them were cut to ribbons, some gashes notching the bone underneath. Blood flowed unstemmed from the wounds, dripping to the floor from his hovering form.  
  
Surely Harry wouldn't do this to himself, surely this couldn't be self- inflicted. If it were anyone else then perhaps he could believe it but the golden Gryffindor, defeated Voldemort more times than he, all before growing pubic hairs. But then Snape's views on his life had changed in the past few minutes, after the meeting with his family. He fears however were confirmed as he reached to one of Harry's closed fists and pulled a bloody razor blade from it.  
  
Snape searched his pockets after laying the boy on the bare bed and pulled a small marble, white with three glowing spots of colour on it from his pocket. Blue, Red and Yellow. Press blue for immediate portkey to Grimmauld place, red for a dose of painless potion and yellow to summon Dumbledore in the event of an emergency. It had been a present from Albus when he had began coming home still suffering the after affects of the cruciatus after death eater raids in which he had been spying. Quickly his finger pressed the yellow spot to summon Dumbledore home to Hogwarts, and then he took Harry's limp finger and pressed it to the red spot. Harry had no reaction.  
  
He probed the wounds lightly with his fingers, trying to determine the extent of the damage, his hands covered in blood and his black sleeves becoming sodden.  
  
Just then Petunia came in timidly holding out a clean white sheet to him. It had taken her a while to get it and Snape would bet that they had both attempted to escape through the doors he had sealed before realizing that it would be better to comply with his wishes. He flung a quick slicing spell at it and watched Petunia's surprise as the sheets turned to bandages in her hands.  
  
'Water' he said watching her run out and come back in thirty seconds later holding a jug. Snape tried to wash the wounds and stop the bleeding but it was no use. By the time he had bandaged up one arm, the sheet was already soaked. Harry's face continued to grow greyer and greyer, but Snape refused to give up. He would need to get him back to Hogwarts, and fast. He glanced around the room and waved his wand. Harry's trunk flew out of the cupboard and his books and things shrunk themselves and fitted neatly into it. Petunia stood by and watched in a mixture of awe and disgust as the dark man shrunk the trunk and placed it in his pocket. After spotting the last of the boy's notes on his desk, he shoved them in his pocket next to the trunk and then lifted the boy gently in his arms. That was when Petunia found her voice box again.  
  
'What are you doing?' she said dumbly, as though it wasn't obvious.  
  
'Taking him away from you' Snape said coldly, he was definitely loosing his patience with these Dursley's and right now he was more concerned with the boy's condition than soothing Petunia's worries, no doubt about whether Potter would be back to clean up the mess he'd made.  
  
'He will not be returning. Does Potter have any other belongings that I will need to take with me?'  
  
'Anything else he would own would be in the cupboard under the stairs' Petunia replied.  
  
Snape walked out the door hastily, ignoring the woman, and down the stairs. Harry's teenage sized body was difficult to carry, not because of his weight but his limbs were long and gangly and caught on things. After a quick look in the cupboard and finding nothing but a mattress on the floor, he grabbed his broom and apparated as close as possible to the anti apparition barrier surrounding Hogwarts. The wind was chilly and Harry was in nothing but his underwear, so Snape wrapped his black woolen cloak around him before clutching his broom with one hand and Harry with the other. Once they were off, Snape's balance was precarious at best, with the added weight and the old model broom it was difficult to stay on, so he made head way slowly. In the middle of the air, clinging to his most despised student half-naked and wrapped in his cloak was the last place Snape would ever have thought he would be only a few hours ago. But here he was. He looked at the boy, shallowly grasping for breath shuddering slightly in his arms, and for the first time saw what Harry truly was. Just a misunderstood and underappreciated boy trying to live up to a prophecy with the entire world possibly on his shoulders. He had lost his whole family... almost, and now that he met the Dursley's he knew the full extent of Harry's torment. Sure he had fame but he knew that Harry hated it, the way he would cringe away from the camera, the way he shook when people congratulated him for defeating Voldemort once again. He could see he felt diminished and petty when it was thought that Harry did it for fame and attention. He had seen this before, but never realized or never wanted to realize it for what it truly was. For the first time he saw Harry and not James, and for the first time he let down his guard. When he was inside that house, his only thoughts had been to save Harry and all other reason had escaped his head. That would never happen again. If he were seen to sympathize with the boy it would be his undoing with Voldemort. Right now it would be so easy to just turn around and take this boy straight to Voldemort, let him finish the job and live the rest of his life in luxury.  
  
So easy.  
  
But no.  
  
His thoughts drifted back to Potter and what had happened, but only questions clouded his mind. Why had he mutilated himself? Was he going through the changing? Surely he was too young to go through it, but what other explanation could it be? Unless perhaps Voldemort had managed to convince him to kill himself through his dreams. Potter, he remembered, was no good at occulmency. But still, he would have heard about it at one of the meetings. Voldemort never passed up the chance to brag about his plans to kill Potter, though lately the Dark Lord had wizened up to the fact that their were spies amongst his supposedly devoted deatheaters and had started telling plans only out of necessity. Snape cleared his head. There was no use thinking about it now, besides Dumbledore would probably have some answers when he reached Hogwarts. He could already see the castle lights looming in the distance.  
  
TBC... Till next time! P.S EireVerde If you are reading this, a singlet is an aussie term for a sort of thin cotton sleeveless under shirt. If you're not from aussie land, then just imagine your view of a Yobbo and chances are he's wearing a singlet top or muscle shirt with stubbies ( 


	8. Arrival at hogwarts

A/N Sorry about the wait. I've posted about half of what I have now but I have'nt written any more on it for about three or four months. Hope I haven't lost too many fans. I'm thinking about rewriting a whole two or three chapters cuz they aren't adding much to the story. Pirates soon to come. Sorry for those of you who thought the rest of this was too dark and gory. Oh and by the way, I don't like hermione or ron that much so if you're a fan then you probably won't like future chapters... although all will come good in the end...maybe. P.S REVIEW!!!  
  
Just then a groan drew his attention to the boy in his arms. He looked down at Harry's eyes, which were now shut hard in pain as he anticipated the next wave of intense agony that was to come. Snape increased his hold so he wouldn't fall off as Harry's body began to spasm. Snape saw him bring his arm up to the other; as though holding something, and try to drag the imaginary object across the blood soaked bandage. With horror he comprehended what he was trying to do. Harry thought he still was holding the razor.  
  
As the castle grew closer Harry's jerking also grew, until Snape was desperately trying to control the broom for a landing. There was no way he could make it to the castle before he fell so he would have to take his chances on the ground. But beneath them was the forbidden forest, and the scent of Harry's blood would draw all the evil creatures of the wood to them like honey to a bee. Using both arms to keep hold of the arching Harry, he steered the broom with his knees. Just a little further he urged. As the last of the dark tree's past them by Snape breathed a sigh of relief, until a particularly violent convulsion knocked him off balance and Snape's grip loosened. Harry's thrashing figure went flying one way and Snape went off the other, both heading towards the ground at frightening speeds.  
  
'So this is it' Snape thought 'a Potter was the end of me after all'.  
  
But just before he hit the ground, he heard a whoosh and felt his stomach do a backflip. And he was flying. He opened his eyes, though he didn't even recall having closed them and looked down at the ground rushing beneath him at incredible speeds, and then he looked across at Potter, who was no more than fifteen metres away. Snape's cloak had fallen off and Harry's almost naked body was contorted in what Snape would have thought impossible positions in mid air. Within seconds they were by the great doors to the castle, with a certain Professor Dumbledore by his side. No words were spoken as Snape was set down and Harry levitated beside him as they all rushed to the hospital ward. Dumbledore's face was unreadable, which was strange because Snape had always been able to tell what the Headmaster was thinking.  
  
Poppy's expression was one of immense anxiety as the three of them entered.  
  
"Oh..." again there were no words to say to express the devastation that faced them. She hurried him to a bed and removed the bandages with one careful spell.  
  
The wound's still bled freely onto the bed. Despite the urgency of the situation the experienced nurse couldn't help but falter it her actions.  
  
Dumbledore and Snape stood back and let Poppy do her work, both staring dumbly at the form on the bed.  
  
A long silence followed before Dumbledore spoke up.  
  
'Was it Voldemort?'  
  
Was it? Snape didn't know for sure.  
  
'Possibly, at least for part of it. Have you read the letters from your inbox yet?'  
  
Dumbledore shook his head. He had responded to Snape's call as fast as possible and had only just arrived and was about to enter the castle when he'd spotted the two flying low over the forest. He thought Snape was in trouble, for that is why he'd given the marble to him, incase a deatheater meeting went horribly wrong. He'd never used the yellow dot before, even during some of Voldemort's routine torture/interrogation meetings where he'd been subject to several cruciatus' and almost been found out, so for Snape to use it was an urgent summoning indeed. But he'd never expected this.  
  
He was aware of a bundle of letters being shoved in his hands, which he took and after tearing his eyes off Poppy buzzing urgently around the bed two metres in front of him, he opened and began to read.  
  
So Harry had written to him and Lupin about believing he was going through the changing. But had dismissed it later on because he was too young. But perhaps... no, it couldn't be that. Surely it couldn't come this early.  
  
Harry soon calmed down somewhat. Poppy had pumped him full of pain potions and had managed to stop the bleeding and apply some skinny-gro to the shredded remains of his arms. She turned to Dumbledore and Snape with a confused look on her face.  
  
'Well my diagnosis is rather confused. If I was reading the signs right then I believe that Harry is going through...'  
  
'The changing?' Snape interrupted.  
  
'Yes, but not only that. I see symptoms of the adaptation stage in a wizard's life, the one that should happen at around the age of thirty. The only assumption I can draw is that a whole lot of combined factors led to the premature maturation of Harry's wizarding core. The stress of all his family members dying, the stress of the OWLS, and of all that business with Voldemort over the years has added up along with Harry's already strong magical core, which has hastened the process. The only reasoning I can make is that the trauma has shaken up his internal clock and forced the two stages to manifest as one. The changing and the adaptation. Usually it takes several years for the core to recover from the first changing, and Harry is getting it both at once. To be quite frank I'm surprised he's lasted this long. I think he'll live, though it's only thanks to his own efforts.'  
  
'What do you mean his own efforts?' Snape said. Dumbledore beside him was contemplating the fact that he had very likely been the catalyst of this change with the news of the prophecy, to kill or be killed by Voldemort and save or doom the human race. Poppy interrupted his thoughts with her reply to Snape's question.  
  
'Cutting his arms was probably the best thing to do in the situation he was in, with no magical potions or spells. Though I don't know how he knew about this form of treatment, he would have died if he didn't. The blood carries our magic, and by cutting his arms he released the immense, fatal loads of magical energy rushing through his system. His magic will be replenished when his blood supply is.' She replied. 'At the moment the only thing is whether this experience will decrease or increase his magical core. As I couldn't observe him in the beginning of the changing, I can't determine whether it is gaining or losing. Not that it matters. If he is losing then it is too late for me to treat anyway.'  
  
Snape remembered that from his own changing. His powers had grown and he had found he had the powers of wandless magic, but the boy in the hospital bed next to him lost his magic like water in a holed bucket. He had ended up almost a squibb despite the nurse's efforts. Just then he remembered something.  
  
He removed the notes he had grabbed off Potter's table and hadn't had time to shrink out of his pocket and flattened them out. His chin instantly dropped despite his efforts to the contrary.  
  
'Surely not... this has to be wrong' he muttered, Dumbledore and Poppy where oblivious to his ramblings and were talking still about whether or not Harry would gain or lose magic.  
  
'I...err... think I have the answer' he said surprising them both. He handed them the slightly crumpled papers, which they took, faces clearly curious.  
  
'What is this? It looks like some sort of equation...' said Poppy trailing off. 'Or a potion... what does it mean Severus?' Dumbledore asked.  
  
'It is a potion... to be more precise, it's the polyjuice potion, however Harry has managed to double the changing period to two hours, by integrating in a rather tricky time compression charm and a mimicking potion to copy the voices, previously thought to be impossible due to the conflicting boomslang and Echoberry juices. But he's compensated for that as well by utilizing Dragon's blood in the potion, a previously unknown use for it Dumbledore... a thirteenth use. Bet you never thought of that one did you?' Comprehension dawned on Dumbledore's face as he read through the untidy scrawl of Harry, and he had to agree that this was definitely a good sign.  
  
'...yes definitely an excellent sign' he mumbled to himself. 'Severus, how about you, are you ok?'  
  
He waved a hand at the blood covering him from head to foot. Snape knew however that the old wizard was still lost in thought and was merely trying to fill in the silences.  
  
'Yes, The blood is all Potter's'  
  
Dumbledore winced at the way he said 'potter' but said nothing.  
  
'I suggest then that you go and get changed and wash up and meet me in my office as soon as possible.'  
  
Snape just nodded and did as he bade, and found himself twenty minutes later, clean, and reciting the headmaster's new password to the ugly gargoyle outside his office.  
  
'Ultra mega sour warheads' he said, wondering what the hell it was. To him it sounded like a type of muggle weapon.  
  
He climbed the stairs and upon seeing Dumbledore, greeted him with 'since when have you swapped from muggle sweets, to muggle weapons of mass destruction?'  
  
He heard him chuckle before he said 'yes well I guess they could be considered a weapon'  
  
He was holding out a small wrapped lolly, a mischievous twinkle lighting up his features. Snape took it wary but curious he popped the lolly in his mouth... and immediately wished he hadn't. His cheeks burned and his eyes watered and an automatic reaction to violently suck the round ball made his face contract painfully. Quickly, he spat it out and looked at Dumbledore, who was now smiling benignly at him, holding a magical camera in front of his face.  
  
'That's one for the scrap book' he said.  
  
Snape growled at him before sitting down angrily in a chair.  
  
'An unusual sweet, even for muggles. They coat the boiled lolly in powdered tartaric acid which makes it extremely sour, why anyone would want to I have no idea, but I've recently taken a liking to them.'  
  
'Can we get down to business now? I don't think discussions about sugar are particularly productive, though infinitely interesting' Snape said sarcastically.  
  
Dumbledore nodded, popped a warhead in his own mouth before sitting down and organizing some parchment on his desk and then turning to address Snape.  
  
'Severus, I'm going to record this discussion as it may be important for future research into the changing and the adaptation.' Dumbledore said, setting a dark brown dicta-quill on his desk, hovering above a blank parchment. 'Tell me from the beginning the events of tonight'.  
  
And Snape did. From the owls arrival, to the letters on the lawn and the Dursley's reactions to Harry's injuries, as well as his own attempts at treatment he talked well into the early hours of the morning, until the first rays of dawn were spilling onto the lake outside the window. He said nothing of his own revelations about Harry however and consistently referred to Harry as 'potter' in his talking, spitting the word as though it were a curse, much to Dumbledore's annoyance.  
  
Finally he was finished, and quite a few feet of the neat, structured writing of the dicta-quill covered the parchment on the desk.  
  
Dumbledore sat quietly through the telling, not saying a word until he had deactivated the quill with a swish of his wand.  
  
'I fear this was my fault' he said quietly.  
  
'How so?'  
  
'I believe it was my revealing the prophecy to him that was ultimately the cause of his present condition.' 'You think stress made the changing come early?'  
  
'Yes, though it is also a result of his magical core strength. You cannot tell me that you have not felt it before'  
  
It was true, Severus had always felt a strong aura around the boy, but it was always so mixed up in the jumble of other school children that it had never made itself stand out. And now, after the changing he could almost feel it from the headmaster's office.  
  
'But what about the adaptation? What could have caused that to come at the same time?' Snape said. Dumbledore just shook his head, he didn't know. Well that was a first.  
  
'Well any way' said Dumbledore 'Harry is going to need someone to look after him while he's staying in Hogwarts. I think it's safe to say we will not be sending him back to those muggles.'  
  
He looked pointedly at Snape, raising one bushy grey eyebrow.  
  
'No. No way. I refuse to baby-sit that boy for the rest of the holidays. Out of the question. It's bad enough that I have to put up with the little brats through the school year.' Snape said knowing full well that to argue against Dumbledore was futile. The old wizard's eyes crinkled in sad disappointment and his gaze fell to the ground.  
  
'Oh no... don't give me that Severus-I-thought-I-could-rely-on-you-puppy-dog- look' Snape said fearfully. But Dumbledore didn't stop, in fact his face seemed to sag even more and the twinkle in his eyes extinguished.  
  
'No I won't do it... not this time. That's not going to work' he said desperately, struggling to hold on to his resolve.  
  
Just then a small whimpering sob escaped from the mans withered lips, heartbreaking, and even Severus Snape's armoured emotional defense's, defense's that couldn't be penetrated by the Dark Lord, crumbled and he snapped.  
  
'FINE! I'll do it. But I shall expect a nice bonus in my pay check this month.'  
  
Dumbledore's expression lifted and he beamed at the dark angry wizard sitting in front of him.  
  
'Excellent! I'll have all the arrangements made immediately. I believe you already have Harry's personal effects in your quarters?'  
  
Snape remembered that he had left the shrunken trunk in his robes, which now lay in a sodden heap in the corner of his bathroom.  
  
'Wait a minute. Arrangements? What arrangements?' Snape said suddenly.  
  
'We'll need to keep a close eye on Harry for the next couple of weeks, and he will no doubt have some homework to complete. He will need to be moved to your quarters so we can look after him.' Said Dumbledore matter-of- factly.  
  
So Dumbledore was trying to force Severus to spend time with the boy and realize that he was not James. He wouldn't admit that he had already made this realization. It was more than his reputation was worth.  
  
Besides it wasn't as though he was suddenly under the same spell as every other potter worshipper seemed to be. No, he still hated the boy's arrogance, and disregard of authority not to mention his consistent ignorance towards his studies. He just understood him more.  
  
'Why me...' Snape mumbled to himself.  
  
'Because, you are the only staff member that is not off on Phoenix business that I can fully trust.' It was true, everyone was away, but Snape remained waiting for the calls of the Dark Lord. Only a few staff members remained. Pomfrey, Filch, Vector, Sinistra and Trelawny (though she technically wasn't staff anymore), each either inappropriate or not fully trust worthy. And Poppy spent most of her time at St Mungos lecturing and learning.  
  
Snape sighed in resignation, though inside he was furious at the headmaster for putting him in this position. It would be no use arguing.  
  
Just then a sputter of flames fell from the fireplace and Poppy's white capped head appeared.  
  
' I thought you should know. The pain waves have subsided and I think it's safe to wake him now'  
  
'Thank you Poppy, we shall come at once'. 


	9. Harry awakens

OK People next chapter. Anyone watching the Olympics?? Australia headed the medal tally for a while on day three! Above USA and China! Did you guys watch the thrashing the Americans got from the Puerto Rican's? Absolutely fabulous! GO SUZY BALOUGH!

Harry was no longer aware of where he was. How he could have moved was beyond him. His strength ebbed from him until he was no longer able to move and he had settled in a tight space waiting for the next wave of pain. His mind was no longer registering the agony. It was as though it had overloaded his senses, and now he was floating in a foggy space, unable to even think. A horribly detached feeling overcame his body, and he felt sure it was his soul leaving his body behind. Time stretched and he could have been sitting there for days or seconds, he couldn't tell. Then all of a sudden he was floating, physically, he was sure. He couldn't open his eyes, but amongst the shooting pangs of torture, his skin's senses were stimulated by a new sensation, one that seemed some how familiar. He was flying, and it was freezing. He could remember the fog in his mind parting for a few seconds and he saw a dark sheet wrap around his body blocking off the reviving sting of the cold air, and two black eyes staring frantically and worried into his own before another seizure caught him and his consciousness retreated to the fog once more.

'Harry? Time to wake up. It's Ok. You're alright now' a familiar voice roused him.

He dared not move, afraid to tempt the pain back, but he had to say he was feeling a great deal better than before. Experimentally he opened one eye slightly, and allowed a slit of bright light to enter. He could see a shadow. No... two shadows hovering over him though he could not tell who they were. No pain gripped him or dragged his thoughts from his body, and so he opened another eye.

'Where am I?' he attempted to say, though it came out as an incoherent croak, the air forcing itself through his strained vocal chords, throat still tender from the violent dry retching.

Snape stood back in the shadows watching he boy struggle to comprehend his situation. It was definitely a wonder he survived with any semblance of sanity remaining. To go through the changing untreated and unassisted was dangerous enough, but the adaptation stage as well. Even with his experience he couldn't begin to comprehend the pain.

He looked on with sympathy, though he made sure that his face returned to one of cold detachment when Dumbledore or Poppy looked at him. Despite his hate, he couldn't begrudge this boy of his sympathy. What he'd been through would have made any man crumble ten times over, and yet he was only fifteen. Harry's body lay on the bed, his long frame clothed in hospital pyjamas barely leaving an indentation in the covers. His skin was white, so white that it would be easy to believe that he had no blood at all left, and his eyes, now flickering open were horribly bloodshot and watery.

Poppy trickled a potion that Snape recognised as an extreme strength and rehabilitation potion to aid in blood production down his throat. Immediately the colour returned palely to his face and he laboured to sit up.

'Easy Harry, not so fast' said Poppy placing pillows behind his back. She turned to Dumbledore, allowing Harry a chance to recover from his exertions, and said 'Don't over do it. It's amazing that he is even up at all this early in the recovery, so don't expect much from him'

Dumbledore nodded and sat on the bed next to Harry while Madame Pomfrey went off to concoct some more potions.

'D..Drrumbledrroore' Harry rasped as his eyes focused on the figure beside him.

The headmaster smiled kindly 'I can't say I've ever been called that before. But please, call me Albus. After all it's not school term now is it?'

Harry seemed to comprehend as he smiled and repeated 'Al-bus' as a small child would trying out a new word.

'Where?' he questioned quietly.

'You are in the hospital wing. I should think that after so many visits you would start to recognise it by now.'

'What... h...hape-ned?' his words were jumbled but Dumbledore understood.

'Are you aware of the changing stage Harry?'

He nodded.

'I know you suspected that that is what you were going through, however Poppy has informed me that not only were you going through a quickened changing, but also the next stage, the adaptation. Do you follow?'

Another nod.

' We don't know why but we suspect that the stress of Sirius' Harry flinched 'as well as Voldemort and the prophecy may have contributed'

'Will I be OK? Did I gain or lose my magical core in the changing?' said Harry, his voice slow and slurred but quickly growing stronger.

'We are fairly certain that you gained, the fact that you healed so quickly should be enough to prove this.'

He gestured to the bandages around Harry's arms covering what Poppy said were now just angry inflamed scars, remarkable considering the state they were in before.

Harry looked at them with barely contained shame.

'Don't fret Harry. Poppy tells me that doing what you did could quite possibly have saved your life. I am curious though how did you know to do it? It is a very ancient technique that hasn't been used in many years'

Harry looked a little lost until it dawned on him that Dumbledore thought that he had done it to save himself. Quickly he improvised.

'Read it in 'witch and wizard developmental stages''. He said. It was doubtful that Dumbledore had read it and would pick up on his bluff. He reddened, as though he was admitting to reading sex education books. Though he had only known about the process for a few days, it had taken on the level of taboo as puberty did in the muggle world.

Dumbledore chuckled.

'Dum... Albus, how come I was never told of this before? I mean it was only by pure luck that I found the book just before the pains started?'

Dumbledore looked at him in shock. 'No-one ever told you?'

Harry shook his head 'I know it is not the usual topic of conversation but surely this would have been important to tell me.'

'I believe that was my fault Harry. It was my responsibility to tell you, after all it's not likely that the Dursleys would know about it and I was your next carer. I always just assumed that you would find out from your friends. It is the sort of thing that teenage boys talk about late at night in the dormitories if you know what I mean. Besides, I didn't expect it to happen so soon' Dumbledore said quietly, half trying to convince himself at the same time.

Harry didn't like the way the headmaster blamed himself and tried to change the subject.

'Why can I see you?' asked Harry. He had just realised that through this entire conversation he had been seeing the professors with perfect vision. He could also see his glasses on the side table with perfect vision. What had happened?

'What do you mean Harry?' asked Dumbledore curiously. Harry merely reached over, painfully, and lifted his glasses off the side table. That simple task seemed to sap strength right from him. He brought them to his eyes and his sight instantly turned unfocused and blurry. Dumbledore nodded in understanding.

'Most likely just a side effect of the changing'

Well that was one less thing to think and worry about Harry thought grimly. Just several thousand things to go.

'So what do I do now? I don't think you'll send me straight back to the Dursleys, and I can't live in the hospital wing. Perhaps I should go to the Gryffindor rooms. I'm sure I could make it there if I tried'

Harry was trying to make it sound like what he'd been through was nothing, and Dumbledore looked grateful for it.

'I'm afraid that's not a very good idea. We have no idea if there will be any after effects as this sort of thing has never occurred before, so we agreed that we should place you somewhere where you can be looked after.'

At Dumbledore's usage of 'we' Harry grew curious. At first he thought he referred to Pomfrey, until he saw a dark figure in the corner. Black eyes gleamed out at him laced with worry, until they noticed they were being watched. They quickly glazed over and turned into an awfully familiar glare. Surely not...Snape. Those eyes, he remembered them from between bouts of oblivion during his changing, but never before had he seen that expression reflected in them. Perhaps he was concerned over Dumbledore, the same as he... but that didn't explain the way he looked when Harry had seen him during the changing.

'Professor...' Harry said quietly, his energy levels had fallen and he yawned before resuming '... you saved me didn't you?'

Snape didn't respond except for an almost imperceptible nod of the head.

Harry felt exhaustion wash over him as he slid further down into the covers. His eyelids quickly grew heavy, but still he managed to mutter 'thanks' before falling into sleep.

Dumbledore smiled and turned to him.

'I believe it is safe if you take him now and get him settled in. The house elves would have finished their changes by now. It would be best if you made yourself present when he awakes, so he doesn't get disorientated. And get some sleep yourself, you look like you've battled a box of ultra sour mega warheads'

Snape just grunted, ignored the old wizard's goads and quickly cast a mobilicorpus on Harry, walking out the hospital with the boy floating in his wake. Dumbledore chuckled and mumbled to himself 'this will be interesting'.


End file.
